


Political Jon

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Doggy Style, F/M, Inspired by Season 8 Spoilers, Mastermind Sansa, Memes, Oral Sex, Political Jon, Rough Sex, Sansa is the Einstein of the North, Smut, Spanking, The Real Political Jon, Under Daenerys' Skirt, Undercover Jon Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 17:52:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17370629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Daenerys arrives at Winterfell to help the North fight ice zombies with her flying lizards of death. Sansa knows this is the best time to press Northern Independence and undermine an alliance that just might save the world. She is the leader that North did not want but perhaps the leader it deserves.Inspired by four seconds of a trailer. I am 90% sure from that brief look that this will be canon.





	Political Jon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Longerclaw_JFC_Put_Sammy_Down](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longerclaw_JFC_Put_Sammy_Down/gifts), [ssjmrxi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssjmrxi/gifts), [sadvos (AzorHotpie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzorHotpie/gifts).



**Sansa Stark**

“You’re abandoning your home!” She told her brother months ago. _Don’t leave me._ Is what she really wanted to say. Perhaps it was not the best move to argue with her brother in front of the Lords of the North and the Vale, but it was what Sansa truly felt. The months since the Bolton regime had been defeated had been the most stressful and most rewarding time she could remember. Every small decision seemed of paramount importance in this war Jon called the _War for the Dawn._ Every grain had to be counted. Every sword sharpened. Every boy strong enough to stand in a shield wall had to be trained while the old men who would normally leave to hunt and never return in a winter such as this formed the bulk of their army. For the first time in her life, Sansa felt important. Her decisions and counsel mattered. In no small part, it was due to Jon.

Jon. Her half-brother. The thought of him brought a wealth of feelings. Some of those a sister should not feel. She felt a strange sense of longing and dread whenever her thoughts turned to him. Jon’s letters to Winterfell were short and lacking detail. Simple confirmations that he was still alive. Essentially held in captivity by Aerys Targaryen’s daughter. _I wonder how many times she has threatened to burn my brother alive._ Sansa vowed the woman would pay if it came to that.

Then everything changed when the last of his letters came to Winterfell. “He has surrendered the North to this Daenerys Targaryen.” Arya’s expression was frustratingly blank. Sansa lifted a brow. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

Her sister shrugged. “I trust Jon’s judgment. He wouldn’t bend the knee if she wasn’t a good person.”

The words hardly convinced Sansa. “He did it without consulting anyone. What will the men think who pledged their loyalty to him? It has not even been a year and he has sold the North away to a Targaryen. You know they will say she seduced him. I hear she is quite beautiful.”

Arya’s answering glare was frustrating though not surprising. “Who cares what they say? Jon is the king, they aren’t, and neither are _you_.” She pointed at Sansa to emphasize her point. Sansa resisted the urge to shrink away. This new version of Arya could be frightening at times, but she refused to show Arya her fear. “A king can kneel and declare for whoever he wants. Most of the lords did not even have the courage to join Jon on the battlefield. What do their opinions matter?”

“Those lords swore themselves for a Stark in Winterfell, not for a Targaryen who doesn’t even sit the Iron Throne. Many of them were the same lords who swore for Robb and it is by Robb’s will that Jon even has a claim to Winterfell when by rights it should belong to you or me.” Her tone was bitterer than she intended.

Arya’s answer was harsh, her long face became wolfish. “Do not forget sister, it is by that same will that _you_ have no claim to Winterfell. If the Lords of the North, try to disinherit our brother then by rights Winterfell falls to me. Make no mistake, I will support Jon to the very end.”

It was a surprise to them both when Bran spoke. Their brother sat in his wheeled chair in the far corner of the solar that had been their father’s. He was so still he could almost blend into the furniture and most days he was as silent as the inanimate objects. A thousand-yard stare was normally on his face as he gazed upon far off lands with eyes that were not his own, yet now they held alertness that let Sansa know his mind was with his body, in the present. “The North cannot stand alone against the true enemy. Jon knows this with every fiber of his being and now he has given us a fighting chance. That fighting chance is in this dragon queen. Ice and Fire. Together.”

Sansa frowned but chose to not to continue the argument. Arya and Bran had little experience in politics. Not like she did. _Joffrey, Queen Cersei, Tyrion, Littlefinger… I have endured them all. Now it seems falls to me to remind my brother that the prettiest of packages can contain the most dangerous of contents._ If the rumors were to be believed, then Daenerys Targaryen was the fairest of them all.

*

The rumors of Daenerys Targaryen’s beauty were true. She was otherworldly. There was no other way to describe her. Her silver-gold hair fell to her waist, artfully messed by the wind. She wore a cloak of pure white fur and blue dress of fine wool trimmed by fur of the same color with golden buttons. Atop her head sat an elaborate crown carved into the shape of three snarling dragons. The coils were made of gold, the wings silver and the heads of each wyrm were carved from ivory, jade, and onyx. Daenerys was shorter than Sansa would have thought, even with her crown, the top of the Queen’s head was just level with Sansa’s eye. Yet the woman commanded respect with every movement she made. The lords of the North may have held her with suspicion but there was not a single man in Winterfell’s yard whose back was not as straight and as taut as a bowstring.

More troubling than the Dothraki savages and eunuch slave soldiers that composed most of the Queen’s royal guard or the three large dragons that circled above in ever-widening circles was the manner of the man who walked beside her. Jon looked more or less the same as she last saw him. His beard was a bit thicker, his hair longer and worn loose around his shoulders and he wore the same cloak that she had made for him as thanks for returning Winterfell to its rightful rulers. Her brother’s appearance was not concerning. He looked as healthy as ever. No. It was his behavior that worried Sansa.

She did not fail to notice how Jon moved to help the queen from her white steed. She did not fail to notice the hand that her brother laid across the small of the tiny queen’s back. Nor did she fail to notice the small smile the two shared each other. Sansa’s eyes narrowed. Jon noticed her attention and distanced himself slightly from the queen.

 _At least have the grace to look ashamed. To look reptant. You sold are home for what’s between her legs._ Anger and jealousy flared in her chest. Sansa wanted to lash out, to berate him in front of every person that he had betrayed. _You fool. You betrayed us._ Yet Jon met her gaze with a steely one of his own. It was a commanding look. The same their father wore whenever he needed to get his point across. _Do not challenge me._ It said. _Not here. Not now. But soon._ Sansa vowed. Her brother would hear her words.

“Winterfell is yours, Your Grace,” Sansa told the queen. Daenerys locked eyes with her. _Challenge accepted._

__

*

“I have pledged myself and the North to Daenerys Targaryen.” Jon stood in the center of the Great Hall. A tall figure that weathered the sudden storm of disapproval. The Lords of the North did not withhold their disdain.

Sansa watched Daenerys from the corner of her eye. The queen sat at the far end of the high table, surrounded by her queer companions and advisors. Her face twitched, an almost imperceptible movement but Sansa caught it. _Did she think the North would be pleased by her presence?_

“Your Grace, she is the daughter of the Mad King! The same man who burned your uncle and grandfather alive. Her brother kidnapped and raped your aunt Lyanna. The North cannot be allowed to fall back in the hands of a family with such a stained legacy.” A chorus of approvals followed Lord Glover’s exclamation.

Jon’s eyes turned sharp. “I am well aware of my history, my lord. I can assure you that I sat in just as many history lessons with Maester Lewin as Robb.” He stepped closer to the Lord who had stood to make his speech. The man seemed to shrink with each step Jon took. “You all stood in this hall and proclaimed me as your king. I did not ask for it. I did not want it. Yet the responsibility was given to _me_. I have spent months with Queen Daenerys and I can assure you that she is nothing like her father. If she were then she would have left us to face the threat to the North alone. A threat that will surely consume us if it were not for the aid of the Queen’s armies, supplies, and her dragons. Wars have left the North weak when our strength is needed more than ever. Daenerys Targaryen is that strength. None of you have been beyond the Wall and seen Others and all the dead they command. For if you had been then you would know it does not matter if a Lord of a King sits in that chair.” He pointed to the stone throne with direwolves carved at its feet. “The only thing that matters is our survival and allying with Daenerys is our best chance at that.”

The room grew uncomfortably quiet. Sansa could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes upon her. Each man in the room had grown used to Sansa’s rebuttals and now they looked to her speak her mind once again. Arya’s eyes were fierce and seemed to promise blood. Jon’s gaze was unflinching and calculating. Never had Sansa come to fear Jon, even as she witnessed the depths of his bloodlust in his persecution of Bolton supporters and yet now his look gave her pause. _If I speak against him, he will regard it as treason._

She looked to the Queen then. Daenerys Targaryen held her stare, those queer purple eyes of her looked hopeful. The woman did not expect her approval, but she desperately wanted it. Sansa wanted this dragon queen gone. A thousand miles from Winterfell and Jon would be a most welcome start. A rebuttal was on the tip of her tongue, ready to lash out and provide the reluctant lords the independence speech they were so desperate for. _Perhaps we should have chosen you as our ruler Lady Stark._ Lord Glover’s words resounded in her head.

She knew if she spoke what they wanted to hear then it would split her family. Arya would always remain with Jon, no matter what Sansa did for her. Bran was the eldest living son of their father and as such, it should have been by his authority that the North was governed, yet Bran was often divorced from reality entirely. Rickon was a child, a feral child that could growl more eloquently than he could speak. _It falls to me._ She swallowed. “My brother has spoken. He is the man we rallied behind and it is his decision that we follow.”

She ignored the response of their audience. Her eyes were transfixed upon Jon’s face. He nodded at her, a ghost of a smile marked his pleasure. Too soon his eyes left hers to find the Queen’s. Sansa watched the wordless exchange between their new overlord and the Warden of the North. _Daenerys Targaryen is too beautiful by half and my brother is just a man._ Jealousy flared once again in her chest. Jon was a Stark. He represented their home, family, and safety. It was him that their family was able to rally behind. It was due to Jon that they were all reunited after so many years apart. Daenerys was an unwanted change. The very existence of her threatened to undo all they had worked for. Perhaps her brother was right. Perhaps the dragons were useful but when this war was over, Sansa would make sure Daenerys would no longer interfere with her family. With Jon. _I need to speak to him alone._

*

Jon’s solar was warmer than she ever remembered. A fire burned in the brazier and the windows were covered by heavy drapes, save for one which allowed sunlight from the dim winter sun to filter into the room. It was still too dark in the room, so she had lit several candles. The dim light gave the room an almost romantic glow. Sansa hoped it would be enough.

She fisted her dress. It was too thin to be worn outside, baring her shoulders and neck. Her auburn hair she wore loose. A near empty glass of wine sat in her hand. The drink did little to calm her nerves. No one knew she was here. None knew what she intended.

Sansa sipped again from her glass. _Before her, it must have been years before he laid with a woman._ Val had been blonde and beautiful like the Dragon Queen, but she had died before Winterfell was theirs. She should have known that Jon would have been vulnerable to seduction by the Dragon Queen.

Offering herself to her half-brother was a brazen plan. Yet, Sansa knew how Jon would sometimes look at her. Tormund had told her the first girl that had captured her brother’s heart was kissed by fire though not half as beautiful as she was. _Ygritte was her name._ Jon spent too long staring at her lips for his feelings for her to be completely platonic. And his kisses to her forehead fueled her dreams. _Jon feels the same way I do, he just can’t admit it. This Daenerys is merely compensation._

Laughter echoed from the hallway. Jon’s laughter and a woman’s. Sansa panicked. She searched around the room and hid in her brothers closet just as his door opened. A moment later, in walked Jon and Daenerys. The slit in the doorframe allowed her to see Jon’s chamber in its entirety.

The sight of the Queen alone in her brother’s room confirmed every suspicion Sansa had. _Power lies between a woman’s legs._ Cersei’s words echoed in her head. Clearly, this Daenerys had the same train of thought. Jon never stood a chance.

It was Jon who closed the distance between him and the queen. They met in an eager kiss. Her brother stood near a foot taller than the diminutive woman and Daenerys’ form seemed to mold against Jon’s. There was a certain hunger to the way her brother moved. One hand tilted the Queen’s chin upward while the other traveled down Daenerys’ back to grip her buttocks.

A gasp escaped the Queen’s lips. “Jon.” She said, scandalized. But there was an impish smile upon her perfect lips.

Jon returned her smile with a wolfish grin of his own. “I can’t help myself, my queen. You have the most perfect arse in the world.”

Daenerys slid away from her _lover’s_ arms. Her fingers worked at the elaborate braids that held her moonlit hair in place. Each step she took was accompanied by an exaggerated sway of her hips. “Just how many arses have you seen, Jon Snow?”

 _That’s King Jon Snow to you!_ Sansa thought, with venom. Her brother may have been tricked into seceding the North to this woman, but she was not ready to give in so easily.

Jon’s eyes were transfixed to Daenerys’ form. They looked as black as bottomless pits in the dim light of the room. Predatory. “When you have seen one as glorious as yours then you don’t need to see the rest.”

That drew a smile from Daenerys. One Jon could not see. The Queen’s white dress pooled at her feet a moment later. Stark against the dark rug that framed the bed. Daenerys was left in a high-necked crimson undress and heeled black boots. “I suppose you don’t need another peek then since you are so sure of your opinion.”

Jon crossed the distance between them in two long strides. He pressed against the Queen’s back and tilted her head to place a kiss upon the junction of her neck and shoulder. “A second look wouldn’t hurt. Or a third. Or a fourth.”

Daenerys giggled. “I suppose that could be arranged.”

Jon’s hands worked at the straps holding Daenerys’ dress to her shoulder. A deft pull and the silk fell away. Sansa sucked in a breath. The Queen was even more impressive nude. Her breasts were small, round and capped with pale pink nipples. Her abdomen and arms were lined with delicate muscles and her hips were sharp with the slightest curve. Between supple thighs was a thatch of silver curls, paler than the light blonde locks atop Daenerys’ head. She was a tiny woman and there was not an inch of her that Sansa could see that was not absolute perfection.

Sansa could not help but compare herself to the Queen. _She is leaner, almost to the point of being slight. This queen could use a meal or two._ Daenerys may have been exceptionally beautiful, but she was almost waifish. Jon like most men would prefer a woman with a fuller figure. Her legs were longer than the Queen's and her breasts were more than a handful larger. _Jon needs to know it is okay to desire me. We can keep it secret from the Lords. I just need her gone._

A scarred hand cupped the Queen’s breast. “Leave the boots on,” Jon ordered. They were made of the finest black leather and ended at the mid of the queen’s thighs. Inches were added to the woman’s height, yet her head still only came to the top of Jon’s chest. His left hand stroked the dragon queen’s flat stomach before dipping lower to play in the neat curls between her thighs.

“Jon,” Daenerys whined. _A truly pitiful sound._ His fingers captured a pink nub, delicately pinching. She seemed delighted as his kisses along her neck turned to possessive love bites.

Sansa shifted uncomfortably. She simply could not believe how entranced her brother was by this queen. When she had seen Jon’s letter announcing his decision to give the North to this foreign queen, she was sure that Daenerys had won her victory by some form of trickery. Promising her brother what lay between her slim thighs of the most like. Yet, it seemed Jon was the one controlling this encounter.

She watched as Jon parted the Queen’ legs. Daenerys’ thighs quivered as Jon’s finger stroked the lips of her heat. “You’re soaking wet, my queen.” Her brother purred.

“For you.” Daenerys breathed. Her back arched as Jon sank a finger inside of her.

After a moment, Jon removed his glistening finger and sucked on the digit greedily. “You taste fantastic, my queen.”  Two fingers sank between Daenerys’ legs, drawing a sharp cry.

“Cum for me Dany,” Jon growled. Heat pooled in Sansa’s belly in response to the strength of Jon’s voice. A shudder traveled through the queen’s form. Her hands clutched desperately at Jon’s clothing. Sansa watched in envy as Daenerys reached the peak of her pleasure. _Could she be any louder?_ Even through his clothing, she could see the strength of Jon’s form as he held the Queen upright.

The Queen’s legs grew weak, but Jon was there to hold her. Kissing her. Possessing her. He guided her to the bed. “On your hands and knees, Dany.” When she took too long to comply, he delivered a harsh slap to her bum.

 _Dany??_ Sansa thought. _They have nicknames now?_

Daenerys yelped but moved to comply. Her spine arched, the smooth lines of her back ended in a round, supple arse. This time it was Jon who sucked in a breath. The Queen peered over her shoulder, noticing her lover’s reaction. She wiggled her arse, enticing him. To Sansa’s surprise, Jon buried his face between the Queen’s cheeks.

“Fuck!” Daenerys buried her face between her crossed arms, opening herself up more to the Lord of Winterfell. Jon was ravenous. He drank from the queen’s cunt greedily. His tongue buried into the queen’s sex while his hands gripped her cheeks, spreading her wide.

“You taste fucking perfect.” Jon moaned. He spanked Daenerys once again. And again. Her pale cheeks took a red tinge. Jon paused his feast to inhale the queen’s scent. “Smell perfect.” His nose pressed against her rosebud. The sharp intake of air was audible. “Mine.”

“Yours,” Daenerys said in agreement. Her hips wiggled impatiently. “Take it, my love. Fuck me.”

The words stirred something primal in Jon. He all but ripped off his cloak and shirt. His muscled torso was bared to the world and Sansa’s eyes. Her mouth grew dry. Even the raised scars, evidence of his brother’s betrayal, made his muscled form more enticing. Lean, masculine muscle lay under pale skin, flexing with every movement. Her face grew heated as Jon kicked off his boots and then stripped his pants and small clothes. His cock jutted out from his body. Long, thick and angry red. Sansa nearly fainted at the sight.

She recovered, only to watch Jon grip the base of his cock and rub his fat head against the queen’s nether lips. “Beg me,” Jon ordered.

Sansa’s belly tightened. _That should be me._

Daenerys begged, her voice wanton and shameless. “Fill me please, my love. I need your cock inside of me.” Jon gripped the queen’s hips and nudge his head between her lips. A slight twist of his hips and he was pressing inside of her. Mounting her like a wolf. Their pace was slow at first, Jon was gentle with his tiny woman, but this Daenerys soon grew greedy. Her hips fired back in response to Jon’s thrust, goading him to quicken his pace. The room filled with the sound of the impact of their hips and the smack of Jon’s sack against Daenerys’ clit.

“Cum for me my naughty queen. Cum for me.” His voice was a deep rasp and his tight grip did much to still the queen’s motions while he fucked her roughly. Daenerys cried and moaned like a well-paid Lyseni whore. She came like one as well. Jon pulled his cock from her and slid two fingers deep inside her cunt while his other hand rubbed incessantly at her clit. To Sansa’s surprise, there was a tremendous gush of juices that soaked Jon’s sheets.

Rather than be angry or disgusted that the queen was pissing all over his bed, Jon was even more enthused. He entered the queen again and again. Pounding her for several minutes before pulling his cock out and rubbing the queen’s cunt till she gushed again and again.

Jon turned Daenerys to her back, lifting her with ease, he knee-walked to an unsoiled spot on his bed before mounting the queen once again. A booted foot rested on his shoulder while the other was held wide as he fucked her with deep strokes. _She is flexible too._ Sansa thought with dismay.

Her shame was increased tenfold as she realized her own fingers had unconsciously slipped between her legs. Even through her dress, she could feel the heat of her core. Yet her fingers seemed a poor substitute for what she really wanted.

Sweat dripped down Jon’s back and there were angry red welts on his shoulders and sides. Further evidence to Sansa that this was not the first time Daenerys had coerced her brother into laying with her. The queen dug her nails into Jon’s back while her tongue strayed from her mouth to wet her lips. “I want to taste you.” Jon gasped, and he pressed Daenerys’ thighs to the bed as his hips snapped with an almost bruising force, bottoming out inside the small woman with every stroke. “Please.”

The single word sent Jon over the edge. With haste, he moved from between the queen’s legs and climbed up her body. Daenerys’ lips wrapped around his cockhead just as Jon cried out. The queen moaned in delight, drinking Jon’s seed.

“Dany.” Jon gasped. He tried to pull away but a hand around the base of his cock and the other on a cheek of his buttocks prevented his motion. A smile broke out across Daenerys’ face and then her pink tongue was out, showing not a trace of white.

 _Wanton bitch._ Sansa knew the reason why her brother was so enchanted. This woman was a siren from the stories. Beautiful and depraved. Destined to lead men to their doom. _Not Jon, I will not allow it._ Daenerys may have been a fun lay, but she was not the type of woman men fell in love with.

Afterward, the two settled under the sheets. The queen’s boots lay discarded at the bed’s feet. Jon’s larger form curled around the queen’s, wrapping her in his embrace. One arm played with a breast while the other looped under their shared pillow. Her brother pressed his nose into Daenerys’ silver locks and breathed deep. “How is it that you smell even better now?”

Drowsy, Daenerys cracked an eye open. “I’m not sure, do you like the smell of sweat, Jon Snow?”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t smell like sweat.”

Daenerys arched a brow. “Then what do I smell like?”

Jon turned her shoulders, so she was fully under him. His hair had fallen loose from his bun, so Sansa could not see his face, but she could imagine an intense look in his eyes. “Well, according to Ghost’s nose you are a mother with child.”

Sansa gasped audibly. She panicked and pressed deeper into the closet.

“Do not jest.” She heard the queen say in a small voice.

“I’m serious.”

“And how would a wolf know what a pregnant woman smells like?” The queen questioned.

“Ghost smelled Gilly when she was pregnant, with all the furs she wore it was difficult to tell at first unless one looked closely. And he is no ordinary wolf. “

The Queen's reply was lost under the blood coursing through Sansa’s ears and the calamity of her thoughts. _A baby?_ Her heart filled with dread. No matter how much her brother actually desired her, she knew he would never betray the mother of his child. To even suggest otherwise was tremendously foolish.

Then almost alien thoughts came to her. _Perhaps my brother was never in love with me. Perhaps I misinterpreted his affections for romantic gestures when he was truly just being a protective brother. He would do the same for Arya if she needed it. Perhaps he could still do what was best for the North while pursuing a relationship with Daenerys._

 ~~Jonsa~~ Sansa shook her head. No that was almost heretical.


End file.
